Miasma of Memoirs

0207 hrs. 08/13/2010

The following piece of script or should I say hodgepodge is collaged on exceptional request of a certain LonE soUL & the necessity of a junior essayist.

Not acquainted with responsibilities and prowess of my predecessor, I take up the position of a skilled writer that is not to be misinterpreted as a plot of dethroning controversy from my behalf.

This recounting is written as to my best remembrance. All personal realities, relations and emotions comparable to this describing are absolutely a concurrence. All is put in writing by a nonsensical novice and is not criticized or directed at any person intentionally of for kicks.


A day waiting to end in front of an empty diary, asked if it were ‘private’ by someone close to me. Private it was, but it’d been longing to be penned into for seven years. Set aside carefully before I was parting my cherished friends for something I thought was more valuable to me, ‘Education’. Balls if I’d known better, was 14 then; that leaving them behind wouldn’t be as uncomplicated & painless as portrayed. Attempted to delay things, even stopped for ice-cream in effort to miss my flight that would depart to the longest two years of my life. Didn’t work, couldn’t have, I was travelling to India after all; the flight had to be delayed on technical grounds. Left a country that I used to call ‘home’, to a new house, that would now forcibly be called my new home. Left to a weeping voice of “Don’t Go!”. Wouldn’t have if I’d have continued for a few more seconds of that call.

Got upgraded to business class for leaving my home country that didn’t give a shit ‘bout what or who you are.

Luggaged with a heavy heart and my life in the suitcase, I travelled with the sobbing conversations echoing in my ears & heavily watering eyes to a new ‘house’. That foul city smell didn’t suit me, that uncooked food didn’t suit me, nor did that contaminated water. I still tried to make an effort. Travelling to colleges and soliciting for admissions where eyes trailed me and focused on each step, uttering a word wasn’t any easier than making eye-contact. Colossal helping got me pushed into a college that students can just fantasize about. By the time I started, about two weeks into college, making friends wasn’t effortless either.

Don’t know if it’s the right time, but I’m gonna say it nonetheless, coz this part is from my heart. I’m gonna take this space out for myself as this is a delicate matter, and no fractions here are falsely fabricated, I’ll add. I’m grateful. No, I’m honoured to be a part of the life I’ve shared with my friends. Wouldn’t have, couldn’t have done it not including them, or in an improved manner. I just realized how difficult it is to truthfully say ‘Thank You’. For being there, for staying by me, for listening to me, for putting up with me, for doing stuff with me that I couldn’t have done unaccompanied, for being by me when I couldn’t have been by myself, for being silent when I’m pissed, for being pissed when I’m silent, for consenting me for being alone when I had to be, for confiding in me, for trusting in me, for keeping my trust, for the joys, for the sorrows, for the laughter, for the tears, for the cheers, for the depression, for making me happy, for making me miserable, for making me who I am. Thank You. :')

Enough tears for now, following up to my work.

For a couple of weeks it was difficult to adjust to a race that I’d not envisioned to exist in, who wouldn’t. But then I heard a familiar voice. Someone I’d known all these years was in the same country as I was in, a nights travel away though but the sentiments of somebody being at a place where the solitary soul I thought to know was myself is unexplainable. Appreciating God and realizing again that He does not overlook His beings; I started to take pleasure in the tiny things that wouldn’t matter to you; the food that you wouldn’t want the aroma of, let alone consume; the people you wouldn’t want to meet, let alone chat to; the rooms you wouldn’t want to visit, let alone sleep in; the classes you wouldn’t want to attend, let alone study them; the vehicles you wouldn’t want to notice, let alone travel in; the neighbours you wouldn’t bear with, let alone befriending their pets that create a hullabaloo throughout each night.

Seconds passed into minutes. Minutes passed into hours. Hours passed into days. Days passed through the nights, passing into weeks. Weeks passed through the months. Each day replicating itself over and over again. Finally I got a chance to visit the country I was born in, a country I called home. Memories torrent through my head, reminiscence of weeping eyes I’d left behind.

And here you think it’s over,
For the only thing worse be death.
When at last you believe it’ll work out,
There’ll be no more troubles left;
There vaguely shall remain a Miasma of Memoirs.

So I left my now so-called ‘home’ to my real home for a tiny retreat from the stuff that I’d been frustrating from every single night.

Snap! The time passes and I’m back to where I didn’t want to be. The familiar voice helps me through day after day of my woes, the guidance from his lexis throughout the hours of darkness and the comfort from his expressions through every footstep of insomniac walks all throughout college days.

When one monotonous day, unanticipated by me, he announced his depart to connect the dots of his life together. The motionlessness of my verve commences, blamed on the towering expectations that I’d reserved on the personage. Each infinitesimal moment was counted and accounted for. Living through this outlandish life as a horrendous nightmare; at a snail's pace I acknowledged this nation as my new ‘home’. Deeming this environment as mine, the acquaintances as friends, the relatives as brothers, spending life as an aimless arrow, I got used to what I’d be compelled to call ‘life’.

Years passed & after the conclusion of college, future directionally to veto, I determined, I’d set off back to where I was thirsting and yearning to be – my birth country. Leaving my ‘home’ behind wasn’t straightforward as imagined again, as acquiring a partiality to this ‘life’ wasn’t in actuality a cakewalk.

Ironically, I got upgraded to business class for leaving my ‘home’ country that didn’t give a shit ‘bout what or who you are.

Makes me conjecture occasionally, where do you in fact belong? Is what you call ‘home’, in reality your home? The people you care for, do they care for you? What you’d for someone, would they do the same for you? What you feel for someone, do they feel the same for you? What you say to someone, do you mean it? Do they? Your love for someone, is it the same for you? When you say ‘I Love You’, do you mean it? Do they? What is love?

- Q